


PTSD: Post Trump Stress Disorder

by queien



Series: Reparation [2]
Category: Chronicles of Amber - Roger Zelazny
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 10:40:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7167791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queien/pseuds/queien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin is still hesitant about trumps after Brand's attack on him years ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	PTSD: Post Trump Stress Disorder

After what Brand did to me, my family knew better than to try to reach me by trump. The sensation of being called whisked me back to that time when I had so eagerly answered only to be greeted by a blade. 

That's why, when I received a trump call that morning, I instantly rejected it.

I pulled out my trump deck and flipped through each of the cards. However none of the faces that stared back at me seemed like they would have called me then, so I placed them back in their case and pocketed them once more.

After I had finished getting myself ready for breakfast, I heard a knock at my door. I pulled open the door to see Caine – the man I knew to actually be Brand in disguise. He pushed into my room and shut the door behind him.

“Did you not get my trump call?” he asked as he shapeshifted into his true form.

I grimaced. “Er, kinda,” I said.

“Why didn't you answer?”

I hesitated but eventually explained. “Because it reminds me of what you did,” I admitted. “I get the call and all I can think of was how I was betrayed and nearly killed. Most of my relatives know better than to call me without warning, and even then, I reject it and call them back myself.”

He sighed and reached out to hold me, and I let him. I was grateful to be in his arms again, and grateful that he seemed to understand my reservations. 

“I can teach you,” he said after a time. 

“Teach me?” I asked, looking up at him. “Teach me what?”

“A technique that should help ease your fears of answering calls,” he replied.

“What sort of technique?”

“It would function as a sort of caller ID,” he explained. “That way, you would know exactly who was calling you. Would that help?”

I nodded at first but then tensed.

“What's wrong?” He asked.

“I'm just not sure how I would respond to you calling me,” I answered. “I would know it's you, and that might make me even more reluctant to answer.”

“But you would know it was me,” he replied. “Then, you could call me back at your leisure, or come find me in person.”

“I suppose you're right,” I said slowly. “How long does such a thing take to learn, though?”

“Quite a while. But don't worry,” he said. “We can always take some time each day for a quick lesson. Anyway, I'm not about to teach it to you right here and right now. Our date comes first. I found a lovely shadow that I want to show you.” He pulled out his deck and fetched one of the cards from it. The image depicted on it showed a field of dark flowers under an expanse of swirling, purple nebulas. 

“It looks lovely,” I said. 

“The appearance is only half of it,” he said. “The wind carries faint and beautiful music, and the air is fresh and clear. Come.” 

And I went with that man, who simultaneously was everything I loved and hated, the source of my adoration and my anxieties. He had taught me to use the trumps and to fear them. I could only hope that he could indeed teach me enough to overcome the terror he himself had instilled in me.


End file.
